


You've been on my mind

by Ellstra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, F/F, F/M, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:19:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellstra/pseuds/Ellstra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that the war is over, Harry wants to have his peace. Except he isn't used to being out of trouble. Even though his body has had a crush on Malfoy forever so he couldn't say it was much of a breakthrough.<br/>It's still not exactly the kind of problem Harry is looking for in his last year of Hogwarts.<br/>Besides, evil trying to get him is nothing new and yet it can always spoil his day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've been on my mind

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write a Drarry story longer than I remember but funnily, I never had any sort of inspiration. And now here I go, writing a multi-chapter fic.  
> This idea came to me when listening to "You've been on my mind" ~~(I really suck at making up names for fanfics, shh)~~ by Dave Days. This song fits Drarry just perfectly.  
>  Warning: This is a Drarry-centered fic. I do list the other couples too, but I won't be focusing mainly on them.  
> I obviously don't own Harry Potter.

There have been many changes concerning Hogwarts and that was even before Harry set a foot inside the castle. The Astronomy tower looked different, as if someone built a modern one on top of the old one. The stones of the walls had different colours so that the school looked speckled like a Dalmatian dog.

The whole journey felt different this year. For the first time, Harry thought he would be able to concentrate fully on his education now that he wasn’t threatened by Voldemort. People were staring at him and it – for once – felt comforting. There were fewer children on the train, or at least it felt like it. Or maybe it was just the lack of familiar faces around him. Those who mattered the most were with him of course but Harry felt funny when he couldn’t hear Dean laughing at Seamus’s joke or watch Neville do something embarrassing.  And Malfoy was there. Which was both a great relief and trouble.

Harry hadn’t seen him since the battle and yet his mind wouldn’t shut up about him. Harry couldn’t recall when he had an erotic dream involving Malfoy for the first time; for all he knew, they’ve always been there. Sometimes he managed to shush them with thinking about other people but they never truly left him. They always came when he expected it the least. Though frankly, he should have anticipated Malfoy visiting his dreams when he spent a couple of days alone at Grimmauld’s place.

He didn’t really have to go, he knew, but as sincere as the invitations from Mrs Weasley and Fleur with Bill felt, he couldn’t bear to intrude their mourning after Fred’s death. Besides, after a year spent in the confines of a tent with Hermione and Ron, he welcomed the privacy. Hermione went to mend her parents’ memories and spent some time with them. Over all, Harry was a nuisance and unlike with the Dursleys, he didn’t enjoy being one.

Grimmauld’s Place was as horrid and gloomy as ever but this time Harry tried to find some positive things about it. Kreacher had returned from Hogwarts for the time being and even if he still babbled about the good old times, he seemed a lot nicer to Harry. And his cooking was exquisite.

Harry made a nest for himself in Sirius’s old bedroom. He tidied it up and put some of his own photos around. When he didn’t think too hard about Madame Black’s screaming portrait, the house-elves’ heads in the halls and all the other hideous things the manor had to offer, it almost felt pleasant.

And idle. Harry was so used to at least pretending to do something, forcing himself to think, to search for something, to look out for possible danger, staying still seemed as easy as forcing his heart to stop beating. He thought he’d enjoy just lying around and not having to do anything but he was terrified when he imagined it. And at the same time, there were mornings when he couldn’t make himself get out of bed. He lay there, stared at the ceiling and tried to find equilibrium between the feelings welling up inside of him.

Having Malfoy kissing him in his dreams soon became almost pleasant and desirable since the alternatives where Hermione, Ron or someone else dying or Malfoy confessing his love for Harry. It was hard to determine which freaked Harry out more because why the hell would his subconscious think he wanted Malfoy to love him? The dreams that involved sex or some variations of it were understandable – Malfoy was hot, okay? Feelings were a wholly different sort of thing and Harry decided to use the time he had alone to reflect upon where and why this dreams might have their roots. Whenever he started though, he got so confused and angry he gave up trying soon enough.

The solitude he thought he would enjoy was wearing him until he wasn’t able to look at the walls anymore. It was by complete chance – and it had to be out of despair as well – when he remembered the Dursleys and how he had no idea what actually happened to them after the war. He decided to try to find out. (Harry knew he was going crazy. Why not enjoy the ride, though?)

He called the phone in their old house and he was a little surprised when Aunt Petunia answered. For a while neither of them knew what to say.

“You can come pick up your things if you want,” she said. Harry almost dropped the receiver.

“That would be nice,” he responded, “is Saturday afternoon okay with you?”

“Yes.”

She hung up at that which seemed a lot more like her usual self. Harry still felt as if he was struck by lightning.

That evening he came to the conclusion it was no use resisting his guilty pleasures and for the first time he actively visualised Malfoy sucking him off as he touched himself. The result was satisfying on the physical part and disturbing on every other but he hadn’t felt this relaxed in ages. If giving in to Malfoy’s eyes and imaginary pleas for Harry to “fuck me, Potter” was the way to achieve this peace of mind, then so be it.

Harry soon realised his life was turning into the sixth year all over again with the exception of not having to appear civilised to others. His days were filled with wondering what Malfoy might be doing and Harry was glad when the time finally came for him to visit the Dursleys.

Aunt Petunia didn’t say anything when he showed up on her doorstep wearing his worn-out clothes, some of which were formerly a property of Dudley. She let him step inside and closed the door after him as if he was a proper guest.

“Hello, Uncle Vernon,” Harry greeted his Uncle who still looked like a walrus. It was a comforting thought, “hi, Dudley and uhm…”

There was a chubby girl with bright red hair and big, thick glasses standing beside Harry’s cousin. She looked familiar but Harry couldn’t quite place her anywhere – she didn’t seem to belong anywhere near the part of world associated with Dudley, let alone to his arms.

“Trish,” she smiled and offered him her hand. He shook it but he must have had a puzzled look upon his face when she went on: “I went to Hogwarts a year above you.”

“Hogwarts,” Harry stared at her, then at Dudley and finally at his Aunt and Uncle. He would have believed anything at this point in his life, anything at all, apart from Dudley dating a witch.

“Yes. My parents were one of the families who took Dudley, Petunia and Vernon in. And we sort of… happened.” She gave him a bright broad smile, which reminded him of Luna.

“I think I’m going to have to process that,” Harry sighed, “but hey, nice to meet you, Trish.”

“Sure thing,” she grinned. Harry glimpsed a contented smile on Dudley’s lips.

“Would you like some tea?” Aunt Petunia asked Harry. He nodded, too shocked to talk. Maybe if he stayed long enough, Aunt Petunia might call him a darling or something.

“I’ll help you,” Uncle Vernon offered and he disappeared behind her in the kitchen. Harry knew he was just trying to hide from Harry but it was still funny to imagine Uncle Vernon getting him a cup of tea.

“So Trish, what are you doing now?” Harry asked the only person in the building who seemed to be acting as he expected them to.

“I’m studying Psychology in London. It was a little difficult to explain why I didn’t go to an actual school but we made up a story about Hogwarts being in another country.” Trish was a little like Hermione as well, Harry noticed. She amazed him even more.

“You study a muggle university?” he asked, astonished.

“Yeah. They don’t really have psychologists at Saint Mungo’s and I’m sure that’s wrong. Wizards act like we’re better than muggles but they have so many things that might seriously help. Like the internet.” She looked very excited and while Harry listened to her words, he found himself watching Dudley. His cousin seemed completely lost in Trish, even though he must have heard this story already.

“I never thought of that but I guess you’re right,” Harry nodded. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon just emerged from the kitchen, which stopped Harry from saying more. He remembered how he sat there with them the last time. This felt so much better. They had a witch under their roof and didn’t appear to want to set her on fire. The world certainly was going crazy.

Harry departed from Dursleys in a good mood and promised Trish and Dudley to call or send an owl. Aunt Petunia still acted stiff around him and Uncle Vernon was giving him sideway glances but his cousin seemed to genuinely hope Harry would forget all the torment he made him go through when they were children.

The visit cheered Harry up so much he decided it might be time to stop sulking around Grimmauld Place and meet the world again. With Trish’s comment in mind, he realised it would be great if he could call Ron rather than straight away show up in the Burrow. He hoped they’d inform him if their invitation to come over was no longer valid. He got some of his most important things from Sirius’s bedroom and apparated to the Weasley house.

It looked just as welcoming and homely as the first time he’d seen it. Before he could knock on the door, Ron walked out of the door and squeezed him in a hug.

“Where have you been?” he yelled when he finally let go of Harry.

“Grimmauld’s place,” Harry answered and a grin crept up on his face.

“Burning it down, I hope,” Ron remarked and guided Harry inside.

“Good evening, Mrs Weasley.”

“Harry,” Mrs Weasley greeted him just as warmly as ever but she looked pale and exhausted. Harry closed his eyes when she took him in her arms and held him close. “You look terribly skinny, what have you been eating?”

“Mostly whatever Kreacher made. I don’t really remember.” Harry shrugged. He didn’t want to admit that some days, he didn’t feel like eating at all. Sometimes he just forgot. Once he told Kreacher not to bother him with food when he didn’t ask for it, his meal times got all mixed up.

“We’ll fix you up,” she gave Harry a sad smile and patted him on the back. For a brief moment Harry wanted to believe that she’d be able to do that. But it wasn’t really possible, was it? He was too broken to be fixed just over summer.

Harry's stay at the Burrow was completely different from last year. Then you could feel fear of death, now there was the faint air of despair and mourning, no matter how much Mrs Weasley tried to hide it. It helped that George had stayed with Lee Jordan and Harry felt terrible about the relief he felt for it.

On the other hand, his relationship with Ron hadn't been this good in ages. Owls were flying to and fro between them and Hermione and Harry couldn't help thinking there were always two letters - one for both of them and one just for Ron. After a while, Harry had nothing to say to her and Ron stopped reading anything to him if it didn’t include an important piece of news.

For the first time since the night of Dumbledore's death, Harry could have some time alone with Ginny. And it terrified him. He saw Ginny shaken by a war, hurt by constant terror and pain in the hands of the Carrows, broken by her brother's death. He saw Ginny who deserved better than him, who deserved someone who could hold her together. Not him, shattered into so many tiny bits he didn't even know whether he picked them all up along the way. Someone who would listen to her talking about her day, not a boy who had to be reminded to get something to eat.

They walked on tiptoes around each other as if every word was a binding promise. Harry was unable to guess whether Ginny was giving him some space or she was relieved he kept his distance. He knew he should talk to her, should make things clear, but he also came to the realisation that he had just saved the Wizarding World. He was entitled to a little cowardice. Besides, he didn’t really know what he would tell her if it came to that. He liked Ginny, she was funny, smart and a hell of a Quidditch player. The time they spent together was nice and amazing in the stress of the war raging around. Ginny was a safe harbour.

She was radiant, she was beautiful and she was within reach. But loving her wasn’t exhilarating. Harry had enjoyed kissing her, holding her close but – sadly – there was more excitement in imagining kissing Malfoy than in anything he actually did with Ginny. And that was disturbing.

It’d been some time since Harry acknowledged he was attracted to both genders – hey, it was weird and quite confusing to realise something like that but you don’t make too much of a deal of it when you have a mad murderer set to get you and the most evil wizard ever trying to kill you since you were a baby. But coming to terms with his body reacting the exact opposite way than you’d want it was an especially bitter pill. Malfoy was a complete arsehole and it really didn’t help that he grew more beautiful every year.

But so did Ginny.

Harry wallowed in his miserable chaos of feelings and he didn’t even notice July was over when Ron woke him with a “Happy birthday.” Time was a bit wacky when all you did was mope and try to appear you weren’t moping. It seemed everyone had their own problems, or maybe they just didn’t want to upset him because nobody tried to make him participate in discussions. They let him do whatever needed to be done – and sometimes even what didn’t. He de-gnomed the garden, he did the dishes by hand, trained Quidditch with Ginny, Ron and sometimes Charlie who stayed a bit with the family before he went back to Romania. It was never the same without the twins though.

Hermione came to the Burrow in the middle of August and surprised Harry when she asked him when they’d go to Diagon Alley to get their school things. He stared at her, unable to make sense of what she’d just said.

“You’re going back, right?” she asked carefully when she noticed his expression.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” he mumbled. It sounded better and more composed than _“I didn’t think about it because it’s about the last of my problems.”_

“Oh yeah, there’s a lot of people who stayed at home last year, or little muggle-borns who didn’t get to start because of Voldemort. Professor McGonagall is allowing us to go back.”

Of course Hermione thought of all that and already had all the information needed while he didn’t even get to think about the possibility of going back to Hogwarts. It would seem Hermione was unaffected by the war but Harry knew better – solving problems and knowing things were her coping mechanisms. When you focused on a logical problem, you blocked out all the other things bothering you.

Harry thought about Trish and her studying muggle university. It had some appeal. Harry imagined working in a coffee shop – Starbucks maybe – or a bookshop. Somewhere mundane and nice. It was a good fantasy and it stayed at that. There was no real chance of him having a job like that; it would drive him crazy. Going back to Hogwarts…

Hogwarts had been the first place that he came to like. Hogwarts was home, friends, family. Hogwarts was food, actually merry Christmas and fresh air. Hogwarts was destroyed in May.

Hogwarts was a chance of seeing Malfoy again.

“Do I have to sign up?”

His reasons were lame and he couldn’t care less. There was no harm in finishing his education and if he got to watch Malfoy in the mean time… It’s not like anything was going to happen. A thought – and a sexual fantasy – never killed anyone.

At least it finally forced him to make up his mind about Ginny. He couldn’t keep thinking about Malfoy when Ginny might still be expecting their relationship to be picked up from ashes.

Speaking to her was easier than Harry had imagined. It was a great relief to finally get it out and just as he said the words, he knew he was making the right decision. Ginny didn’t appear surprised, she took it as the fighter she was. As far as Harry could tell, she was glad they finally made things clear between them and he went back to spending time with her just as easily as he had before.

A couple of days later, a beautiful greyish owl knocked on Harry’s window. He let her in and untied the knot holding the letter she carried to her leg. When he held it in his hands, he noticed Hagrid’s wobbly script and smile. He opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of parchment.

_Hello Harry,_

_I’m happy you’re coming back to Hogwarts. Figured you might need another owl now. I trained her just for you._

_See you soon,_

_Hagrid_

“Guess you’re mine now, huh?” Harry asked the owl and tried to pet the owl. She didn’t try to peck him so he ran his fingers down her shiny head.

“What might your name be?” he watched the owl for a couple of minutes. She was just as graceful as Hedwig but completely different at the same time. The thought of Hedwig still hurt but Harry was very grateful for Hagrid’s consideration.

“How about Nymphadora?” he mused and she gave him a quizzical look. “I can always call you Tonks.”

He wrote a reply to Hagrid and sent Nymphadora with it. He felt bad for not writing to Hagrid before – or anyone else – but he just couldn’t find the energy.

Days finally started to form specific periods of time now when Harry had a distinctive goal ahead of him. He checked his possessions and figured out he would have to buy basically everything except for a wand.

Harry had made up dozens of possible scenarios for what might happen in Diagon Alley the night before the visit. Most of them involved meeting Malfoy in some very obscure shop and pushing him against whatever seemed fit for the purpose.

Maybe he should consult Trish about that.

Maybe he should have consulted someone on the decision of getting a tattoo. But it felt personal and after a year of sharing virtually everything, he wanted to have something of his own (something that wasn’t an embarrassing crush on his nemesis.) He got it the old-fashioned way, in a muggle studio. For some reason, it wasn’t difficult to decide what it should be.

He walked out with a fresh _I open at the close_ between two of his left ribs, a phone number scribbled on a business card and a great mood.

Harry was almost convinced not to go to Hogwarts when he didn’t meet Malfoy during his shopping but it wasn’t like there was a reason he could give Ron and Hermione. Besides, now that his blood seemed to get less syrup-y, he was looking forward to going back. Hogwarts without Snape should be heaven on Earth.

Harry still had mixed feelings about the man. On one hand he did try to protect him and was a double-agent pretending to be a Death Eater. On the other hand, he could have been slipping Voldemort’s disinformation to Dumbledore just as easily. The only crime Harry could forgive him was killing Dumbledore. But otherwise… Harry knew how hurt Hermione was when someone called her a mudblood but she never heard it from him or Ron. Calling Harry’s mum mudblood was an awful and vile thing, no matter what.

And no, Harry couldn’t forget all the mistreatment, the sneers, the injustice or Neville’s terrified face when the boggart in third year took on a form of Snape of all things. Snape may have saved his life and Harry was grateful for that but just this once, he felt like the good was paid for twice with years of abuse.

The train set off at eleven sharp as always. Harry wondered whether it was controlled by magic to never be late. The journey was a dull and uneventful compared to the last one when he almost made his way back to London after Malfoy petrified him. Good times.

“Harry, ya made it,” Hagrid yelled and terrified the knot of first-years gathered around the half-giant.

“Great to see you, Hagrid,” Harry felt himself smile. Even if the whole year sucked, Hagrid was still there to offer him samples of his terrible food.

It pained Harry to see all sorts of students – even the little ones – pointing at the thestrals. It used to be a rare occurrence but with a battle having taken place directly at Hogwarts as well as all the horrors before that, there were many people who found out the carriages didn’t go on their own.

He saw Malfoy staring at one of them, his face a mixture of horror, repulsion and curiosity. When he moved his head a little and his eyes found Harry, the expression turned to a blank one all of a sudden. Harry didn’t have time to try to guess what it meant since he just noticed Malfoy had got his left eyebrow pierced. And it looked so hot Harry bit his lip.

 _Well, I’m screwed_ , he thought as he disappeared in one of the carriages with Ron and Hermione. His heart was racing. If one chance glimpse at Malfoy could do this to him, how was he going to go through the whole year?

He caught Hermione giving him funny looks during the Sorting ceremony. He tried to keep his mind off Malfoy but it was rather challenging – he could swear Malfoy was staring at him from below his bangs that looked more loose and relaxed than ever.

“Welcome to the new year at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall rose after the sorting and the whole room quietened, “in the name of all the teachers I welcome especially those who are new to us. As you surely noticed, we have a few new faces among the teachers as well. All welcome Professor Simon Collier who will be teaching Transfiguration now that I’ve been forced to take up this thankless job as a Headmistress.”

The Hall laughed and cheered for a young man who appeared a little sheepish and too attractive to be a good thing. Harry could hear the swoons all over the Hall and then excited whispers. He recalled what the last good-looking teacher turned to be and he wasn’t entirely convinced it was a good choice. On the other hand, Professor Hart didn’t appear half as obnoxiously in love with himself as Lockhart had been and Harry was determined to give him a chance.

“Ah yes, he’s very handsome, I know. But don’t think he won’t be strict.” McGonagall warned them and Harry had to laugh. She appeared so annoyed as if that was exactly what she had anticipated. “And welcome also Professor Natasha Kuryanskaya who was the only one who didn’t seem intimidated by the position of the teacher of Defence against the Dark Arts.”

Harry had no idea what to make of the tall, fair-haired woman who rose and smiled slightly. She could have been as awesome as Remus Lupin just as easily as Dolores Umbridge come again. Hermione seemed thrilled and she immediately leaned towards Ron to tell him something. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Another idol come teacher,” Ron explained and Harry grinned. Hermione pretended she was offended.

“Telling you not to go to the Forbidden Forest seems redundant for some people but this is a reminder that it is still forbidden and will be severely punished.” Harry looked at his friends and they all chuckled. Not going to the forest seemed like a completely surreal concept to them.

“I have one last announcement to make,” McGonagall made a dramatic pause, “Considering the war that just ended and what may have led to it, I have decided to attempt to bring the Houses closer together. Our wise Sorting hat always reminds us that even though we get selected into four Houses, we are still a family and we should stand by each other’s side. The old Charms class has been turned into a common room where all students are welcome to meet their classmates from other Houses. I hope to see as many of you using it as possible. That is all so let the feast begin!”

Food appeared on the tables and Harry smiled when he heard the first-years whisper and beam with joy. He stuffed himself with all the great food in front of him and for the first time in months, it felt good to eat. Hermione and Ron sat opposite of him and sometimes they pulled him into their conversation about the new common room but his heart wasn’t in it so they dropped it.

During dessert, Ginny appeared on his left side. She sat down on the bench quite unceremoniously and Ron frowned at her as she had legs on either side of it. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“So, Hermione, how excited are you to have Natasha Kuryanskaya teach us Defence against the Dark Arts?” she asked the other girl. Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

“Extremely. I thought it was her when I saw her but it didn’t seem possible. I still can’t believe she decided to teach here at Hogwarts.” Hermione seemed like Christmas came sooner. Harry couldn’t place the foreign name anywhere no matter how hard he tried; it didn’t ring even the tiniest of bells.

“Okay, I’m going to be the idiot here and ask what exactly it is that makes this lady so special,” Ron saved Harry the necessity to ask himself.

“She’s the Head of Aurors in Russia. She invented some very neat defensive spells and objects that detect dark magic.” Hermione had to catch her breath.

“Basically, she’s pretty awesome,” Ginny added. Harry and Ron took one more look at her.

“She is pretty,” Ron pointed out.

“Oh yes, that’s what interests you,” Ginny rolled her eyes.

Harry caught Kuryanskaya’s eyes and she nodded to him, raised her cup and smiled slightly. She looked like a winter queen from a fairy-tale, distant, cold, smart, unforgiving. Her eyes were big with just a hint of blue and set above cheekbones so prominent Harry thought they must have been enhanced. She wasn’t pretty. She was deadly beautiful.

“Do you know the Transfiguration teacher too?” he asked Hermione before they caught him staring.

“No,” she replied, “seems nice enough.”

“He’s not if you trust McGonagall,” Ron pointed out.

“Maybe you shouldn’t come late to his first class, then,” Hermione laughed and Harry smiled softly when he recalled their wandering around the school in the first year.

“He’s pretty too,” Harry pointed out. Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron. It was curt and barely perceptible but it was there. Harry took it as a good sign.

“Hey, no judgements,” Ginny cut them off, “we’ll see.”

“I still can’t believe I’ll have classes with you,” Ron frowned, “now I’ll have another girl better than me in the class. Bloody brilliant.”

“Oh, don’t cry, we’ll love you even if you drop out,” Harry teased.

The prefects just asked the first-years to follow them and there was a lot of shuffling and talking. When the youngest disappeared from the Great Hall, the elder students soon followed until there were just a couple of people behind.

Malfoy was siting by himself at the Slytherin table and he looked as if he wanted to murder someone.

“Ginny, are you coming?” Luna Lovegood dropped by their table.

“Sure,” Ginny rose to her feet and locked her arm with Luna’s, “I’ll see you guys.”

“Good night, don’t let the pixies bite,” Luna gave them one of her dreamy smiles and danced away with Ginny close behind her.

“I don’t think pixies bite,” Ron pointed out.

“Please don’t tell her that,” Hermione suggested, “let’s get going too.”

“You go, I’ll get a bit more of the scones,” Harry waved them off.

“You should have eaten something back home, you wouldn’t have to spend the whole evening stuffing yourself,” Ron advised him.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to wait for you?” Hermione looked worried. Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he smiled. Hermione didn’t appear entirely convinced but she let him have his way, took Ron’s hand and they walked away together. Harry watched them leave and reached for one of the scones just in case Hermione looked back at him. He put a thin square of butter on it and took a bite when he noticed Malfoy’s gaze at him.

Acting casual around the Slytherin boy was never easy but Harry tried to eat the scone as gracefully as he could and he managed to keep the air of carelessness as he stood up and made his way to the other side of the Hall.

“Hey Potter.”

“Hey Malfoy,” Harry turned around and looked the other boy over. He was thinner than Harry remembered but he appeared wiry and muscular. Harry wondered whether he’d feel as firm to the touch as he looked.

“So you decided to grace us with your presence,” Malfoy sneered.

“I decided to come back to school if that’s what you mean,” Harry deadpanned.

“Of course you came for school, what was I thinking?” Malfoy rolled his eyes dramatically. Harry resumed walking, Malfoy right behind him.

“Maybe you weren’t thinking at all, you’re great at that,” Harry sneered.

“Always so funny, Potter,” Malfoy spat.

“Good night, Malfoy,” Harry almost sang as he left Malfoy standing in the corridor leading to the Slytherin underground. Going to Hogwarts was a great decision after all. It was refreshing to just bicker with Malfoy with no consequences whatsoever. It felt better than anything after the stress of last year.

Harry smiled a little when he lay down into a new bed in the Gryffindor tower; they gave him and Ron a spot in a room of three sixth-years. Harry tried not to think about the two roommates these boys had had before the battle as he pulled the curtains around his bed and fell asleep.


End file.
